before his life had exploded into a circus of hedonism. There was no place for her now as anything more than she was already. It didn’t stop her from wishing, though. The heart was remarkably steadfast when it marched towards its own destruction.
Now they had a night off in Chicago and everybody was gearing up to head out to some club JD heard about. Justine was starting to question her own decision to go. Spirits were high. Everybody seemed in a mood to cut loose and cause trouble, and Ash, the Dionysus who led them all into the most mischief, hadn’t even shown up yet. She worried the night would lead to scenes she’d wish she hadn’t seen. But she already told Dillon she’d come and he’d wonder if she didn’t show. Of course. He wanted her there even though he’d never go home with her. She was the one he talked to about music and art and the state of the world, but someone else got his kisses and his hands and his body in breathless dark corners. She was the biggest fool on the planet.
The elevator doors opened, spilling Ash and Dillon into the lobby.
“Friends and fellow revelers!” Ash shouted, his voice echoing off the marble floors. His arms were spread wide, his favorite long leather trench coat belling out behind him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, despite the near-freezing temperature outside, but he did have a purple scarf — her purple scarf, damn him— draped rakishly around his neck. Justine had to give him grudging props for his style, if not for his sense.
JD, Rocky and Paolo let out shouts of victory when he appeared. Justine thought about slipping away upstairs, not sure if her heart could handle another night of this kind of debauchery.
“No escape now,” Dillon whispered at her side, like he could read her mind.
She turned to look at him, freshly-showered, sober, in a dark t-shirt and a leather jacket. Her mouth watered and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching out to touch his damp hair where it curled over his ear.
“Just not sure if I’m up for being the token girl in the club house again.”
Dillon nudged her. “C’mon, you’re the best part of the night.”
And just like that, she was back in his pocket and along for the ride. One day, she swore to herself, she’d get past the way he made her feel. She’d stop jumping the second he crooked his finger at her.
They turned to head toward the entrance just as David pushed through the revolving door from outside. He stopped when he saw the group and there was a silent moment, just long enough to be awkward. Justine knew she should probably invite him. It would be the nice thing to do. But the last thing she wanted was David’s dour presence throwing a pall over things all night. Paolo stepped in and made the decision for her.
“Hey, Dave, we’re headed to this club JD heard about. You want to come?”
David looked quickly at Justine, and then his eyes flickered to Dillon at her side.
“No, thanks.”
“You sure, man?” Paolo pressed. “The local crew says this place kills.”
Once again, he looked at Justine and she got irritated. Clearly her presence alone was enough to keep him away. Fine. She liked it better that way.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Later.”
He pushed past them and headed to the elevator. Justine exhaled in relief.
There were no cabs at the hotel and Ash didn’t want to wait for the front desk to call him one so they decided to walk. There were more intelligent choices to make in Chicago in early April, when spring felt a long way off. By the time they found the tiny club JD kept swearing was just around the corner, Justine was chilled through. Her outfit, a mini skirt and a little fitted jacket, had been all about looking good, not feeling good. When Dillon pressed a glass of bourbon into her hand, she slammed it back without a thought, just looking to get warm. When another round came by, she kept going, liking the way the warmth flooded her limbs and banished the anxiety.
Now they had a night off in Chicago and everybody was gearing up to head out to some club JD heard about. Justine was starting to question her own decision to go. Spirits were high. Everybody seemed in a mood to cut loose and cause trouble, and Ash, the Dionysus who led them all into the most mischief, hadn’t even shown up yet. She worried the night would lead to scenes she’d wish she hadn’t seen. But she already told Dillon she’d come and he’d wonder if she didn’t show. Of course. He wanted her there even though he’d never go home with her. She was the one he talked to about music and art and the state of the world, but someone else got his kisses and his hands and his body in breathless dark corners. She was the biggest fool on the planet.
The elevator doors opened, spilling Ash and Dillon into the lobby.
“Friends and fellow revelers!” Ash shouted, his voice echoing off the marble floors. His arms were spread wide, his favorite long leather trench coat belling out behind him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, despite the near-freezing temperature outside, but he did have a purple scarf — her purple scarf, damn him— draped rakishly around his neck. Justine had to give him grudging props for his style, if not for his sense.
JD, Rocky and Paolo let out shouts of victory when he appeared. Justine thought about slipping away upstairs, not sure if her heart could handle another night of this kind of debauchery.
“No escape now,” Dillon whispered at her side, like he could read her mind.
She turned to look at him, freshly-showered, sober, in a dark t-shirt and a leather jacket. Her mouth watered and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching out to touch his damp hair where it curled over his ear.
“Just not sure if I’m up for being the token girl in the club house again.”
Dillon nudged her. “C’mon, you’re the best part of the night.”
And just like that, she was back in his pocket and along for the ride. One day, she swore to herself, she’d get past the way he made her feel. She’d stop jumping the second he crooked his finger at her.
They turned to head toward the entrance just as David pushed through the revolving door from outside. He stopped when he saw the group and there was a silent moment, just long enough to be awkward. Justine knew she should probably invite him. It would be the nice thing to do. But the last thing she wanted was David’s dour presence throwing a pall over things all night. Paolo stepped in and made the decision for her.
“Hey, Dave, we’re headed to this club JD heard about. You want to come?”
David looked quickly at Justine, and then his eyes flickered to Dillon at her side.
“No, thanks.”
“You sure, man?” Paolo pressed. “The local crew says this place kills.”
Once again, he looked at Justine and she got irritated. Clearly her presence alone was enough to keep him away. Fine. She liked it better that way.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Later.”
He pushed past them and headed to the elevator. Justine exhaled in relief.
There were no cabs at the hotel and Ash didn’t want to wait for the front desk to call him one so they decided to walk. There were more intelligent choices to make in Chicago in early April, when spring felt a long way off. By the time they found the tiny club JD kept swearing was just around the corner, Justine was chilled through. Her outfit, a mini skirt and a little fitted jacket, had been all about looking good, not feeling good. When Dillon pressed a glass of bourbon into her hand, she slammed it back without a thought, just looking to get warm. When another round came by, she kept going, liking the way the warmth flooded her limbs and banished the anxiety.
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